by Mindy Klasky
I recognized the hodgepodge of words, identified each individual strand of legalese. I knew that my father would forbid me from signing such a document, at least until he’d had a chance to pick it apart, clause by dependent clause.
But I also knew that my father was never going to review my genie’s documentation. I knew that Teel had the magical strength to keep me from revealing what I knew, even if I were inclined to do so. She’d already shown me that power numerous times, when she’d kept me from talking about what was going on, even before I’d known there was a fourth wish at stake.
Initialing the confidentiality clause was a formality. A formality that would get me my fourth and final wish. I scribbled KF in the margin, crossing the F with a final flourish.
Teel nodded precisely and stacked the pages, tapping them against my desk until they were perfectly aligned. Then she reached up to the pink shell of her earlobe, tugging firmly once. She passed me a newly materialized duplicate of the contract, countersigned with her own sprawling one-name signature on the last page.
“So,” she said. “Your last wish.”
“Wait a second,” I said, finally able to think clearly. “Where have you been? Why haven’t you been nagging me, the way you were for the first three wishes?”
“Nagging?” She sounded offended.
“Dragging me to your invisible Garden. Staring off into space all wistful.”
“The Garden,” Teel sighed, her longing cutting through the ridiculous business of the contract. She blinked, though, and shrugged. “I made a promise.”
“You what?”
“The last time we went to the Garden. You made me promise I wouldn’t bring you there again. A genie always keeps her promises.”
She made it sound so simple. So straightforward. “Oh” was all that I could say.
“If you want to go back to the Garden—” She raised her perfect nails to her ears.
“No!” I had no desire to be back in that nothingness, no desire to float in the neither here nor now.
But what would I wish?
I could tell Teel that I wanted to undo the previous three wishes altogether. That would erase everything that had happened at the Landmark. That would save me and the theater-loving world from Bill Pomeroy’s abomination of Romeo and Juliet.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Bill would still have done his play, even if I’d been nowhere in the vicinity. Some other stage manager would have taken the hit, though. Maybe someone with more on the line than I had. Someone with a spouse to support. With kids.
Besides, I didn’t want to miss everything that had happened. I certainly didn’t want to miss my time with John.
I raised my fingers to my lips, remembering how gentle his first kiss had been. Remembering that he had just asked me to move to New York with him. I’d told him no, I’d said that I couldn’t abandon my life here. But that was before I’d come home to find out that my housemates were abandoning me. (Okay, a tiny, logical part of my mind said. They weren’t abandoning me. They were living their lives.) That was before a fortune cookie had told me I was going on a journey.
John and I were still at the very beginning of our relationship. If I hadn’t ruined things tonight—and I had to hope I hadn’t, had to believe that I could still go back, still make things right—there was so much potential. Potential that would be rubbed out if I erased all of my wishes, made it so that I’d never set foot in the Landmark.
If I turned back to John, though, if I even started to pay serious attention to the possibility of going to New York, I would be forswearing my obligation to Dad. I could use my final wish to end my promise to my father. I could wish to be free from my obligation to take the LSAT, to pursue law school and a staid job at a firm and the highest profits per partner that I could generate.
But I didn’t need to waste a wish on that. I could make that happen on my own, without Teel’s powers. All it would take was courage—the strength to tell my father that despite his grandest dreams for me, despite his love and care and support for so many years, I wasn’t going to follow in his footsteps. I wasn’t going to be the lawyer my mother had always dreamed of being.
It would be rough for him, sure. But he was my father. He wanted what was best for me. He’d always wanted what was best for me. No need for magical intervention there.
“Anytime today,” Teel said.
“I’m thinking,” I snapped. She hadn’t believed it was important enough to tell me the full terms of our deal at the beginning. I certainly wasn’t going to let her bully me into wasting my last wish now.
“Six out of ten people—”
“I don’t care,” I said automatically. Who knew what crazy statistic she was going to spout? Where did she get those numbers, anyway?
But that wasn’t fair. Teel had consistently used her statistics to warn me. To guide me. She had tried to tell me that I wouldn’t be happy with some of my choices. She had tried to say that most women chose to change their bodies, chose to reshape their physical selves, but she’d hinted that those changes weren’t always successful. Satisfying.
I looked down at my reshaped physical self.
Sure, things had gotten complicated. I’d needed to convince my father and my housemates that I wasn’t starving myself to death. I’d been subjected to Norman’s disgusting comments, to Drew’s stupid follow-up.
But I had to admit, I didn’t mind the new body itself. I’d come to enjoy dressing it; I liked the changes Teel had built in. I had enjoyed the time that Drew and I had invested in discovering each other’s bodies; I had liked the way this new physical me responded, the way I felt when I’d been with him. Nope. I wasn’t going to give this body back, not without a fight.
But Drew…I’d taken Drew by the unfair advantage of a wish. I’d only snared him with Teel’s assistance, ignoring my genie’s most vigorous protests. I’d made him miserable. I was rapidly making him broke.
He didn’t know me. He didn’t care about me. He didn’t even remember the first thing about me—tonight’s alcohol-filled chocolates had proved that.
I had thought that I’d be happy with him. I had thought that the secret to my success was being wanted, being needed, being loved. I’d fallen victim to every romantic daydream, every cheap fantasy sold to every schoolgirl who had ever scribbled her name on a piece of wide-ruled notebook paper, adding the last name of her so-called One True Love in a giddy dream of wedded bliss.
I closed my eyes and summoned up Drew’s face. Oddly, though, I wasn’t able to picture him. Not all of him. I could see the line of his jaw, glinting in a ray of sunlight, bristling with a beard that he hadn’t bothered to shave in the morning. I could see the sparkle of emerald swirled into the chestnut of his eyes. I could see the line of his teeth, the tiny imperfection that made him human, made him real. I could see the firm edge of his lips; I could even remember the feel of those lips as he woke me for the third time in the night, stirring me to passion I’d never dreamed I could enjoy.
But I couldn’t see Drew. I couldn’t see all of him. I couldn’t see the man that I had bewitched, the man whom I’d bound to me through my genie’s spell.
My eyes still closed, I bit my lip, trying to increase my concentration. Drew. This shouldn’t be difficult. I’d slept with the man for weeks. I’d mooned over him at rehearsal for ages before that. Drew.
Try as I might, though, I couldn’t summon a full and complete portrait.
I opened my eyes. Teel had settled a hand on her hip; she was a full-color illustration for a textbook on annoyance. “Ready?” she asked.
“I wish that Drew Myers would fall out of love with me.”
Teel narrowed her eyes. I felt like I was on the witness stand as she said, “Drew Myers? You’re wasting another wish on him?”
“It’s not a waste,” I said.
“You don’t need to unwork the magic, just because you’re bored.”
“I’m not bored!”
“Bored. Guilty. What
ever.” With a tight wave of her hand, Teel managed to connote professional disapproval, as if my wish violated some secret lawyer pact, broke the genie rules.
“Look,” I argued. “You told me to make my fourth wish, and I’m making it. Weren’t you the one who told me that nine out of ten women who make wishes out of jealousy regret their wishes?”
“I’m flattered,” she said haughtily. “I didn’t think you listened to anything I said.” She stopped her rebuke long enough to peer into my face. “Wait. You really want to do this? You really want to spend your last wish forever, unmaking your third one?”
There were lots of other things I could wish for. Fame. Fortune. Finding a job in New York with John.
But fame brought its own disasters; Exhibit One was Bill Pomeroy’s topple from the heights of local theater celebrity. And I didn’t really need much money to be happy. And things were either going to work out with John or they weren’t. After watching me break down like a sand castle at the beach, he might decide he didn’t want anything else to do with me, ever again.
I thought of Drew’s happy-go-lucky charm. His “dudes” and his “totallys.” His stunning good looks. I thought of how deflated he’d looked at the end of the play—not dragged down by the audience, not devastated by the critics. Broken by me. By his unrequited love for me.
I met Teel’s eyes, remembering the rules of the genie game. This time, my wish was simple. I didn’t feel the need to explain, the compulsion to clarify, to make sure that Teel understood every possible mistake I might have made. Teel knew the parameters of what I wanted. Teel would make it all right.
“I really want to do this.”
She nodded. “Very well, then.” She collected her papers and put them in her briefcase. She flipped the combination locks closed, spinning the dials to eradicate any trace of her secrets. She extended one slim hand, her tattoo glinting incongruously against the cuff of her blouse. “It’s been a pleasure working with you. I regret that we won’t be able to do business again in the future.”
“This is it, then? You don’t have any other hidden papers? No secret messages that you’ll be coming back again and again and again to deliver?”
Her smile was so small I almost missed it. “This is it. Good luck, Kira.”
“Thanks.” And because that didn’t sound like enough, I said, “Seriously. Thanks for everything. It hasn’t all been good, but the past three months have taught me a lot.”
“Three months.” My genie lawyer shook her head. “Eight out of ten people complete their wishes in less than a week.” She raised her fingers to her earlobe. “Goodbye.”
“Goodbye. And thank you! And good luck getting into the Garden!” The last words caught in my throat. Teel’s lips crooked into a graceful smile, and she inclined her head, accepting all of my good wishes. I stared at her for a long moment, thinking about everything I didn’t know about genies, everything I didn’t understand. I sighed and said, “I wish that Drew Myers was no longer in love with me.”
“As you wish,” Teel said succinctly, and then she tugged twice with all her might.
The flame tattoo around her wrist blazed out, golden light that shimmered up her arm, around her head, consuming her body and breaking it into tiny particles of fog. The minute jewels sparkled for a full minute before flowing into the lantern on my bed. I picked up the brass lamp and tried to peer inside it. The metal had lost its luster, lost the brilliant gleam that I had shocked into existence back in the costume shop at the dinner theater. It was cold, almost icy against my palms.
I rubbed my hand against it, then tried to polish it with my comforter, but the lamp remained dull. Lifeless. Ordinary.
I held my own hand in front of my face, turning my fingers this way and that, attempting to catch the glimmer of my personal flame tattoo. Try as I might, though, I could not pick up a hint of the mark that had bound me to Teel, that had given me the power to summon a genie.
For good measure, I pressed my thumb and forefinger together, firmly clenching them. Nothing. No electric tingle. No juddering metallic shock.
Teel was actually gone.
I leaned back on my pillow. For one fleeting instant, I caught a whiff of Drew’s shampoo. I wondered if he would call me to announce his sudden freedom. If he was going to come find me, the way he had when Teel first made him fall in love with me. If I would know that my final wish had worked.
I realized, though, that there wasn’t going to be any call; there would be no passionate proclamation to wake the Swensons. After all, what would Drew say? “I suddenly realized that I don’t know you at all, and I have no idea what I’ve been thinking for the past month?”
And that was just as well. Because I couldn’t imagine what I would say back to him. “You’re gorgeous, but you’re dumb as a rock, dude.” That didn’t speak very highly of him. Or of me.
I cradled the lantern against my chest. I was tired, spent from the days of theater hell, from the pressure to mount our show, from the living terror as I saw our creation unfold into something I never wanted my name associated with. I was exhausted from my sobbing, from my hysterical realization that my life wasn’t going to be the one I’d always dreamed of, the one I’d always wanted.
I closed my eyes and fell into a swirl of dreams, all colored with glints of fading jewels.
Standing outside my father’s office door, I hesitated. “Go ahead,” Angie said from behind me, her voice sympathetic around her wad of gum. “He’s only got fifteen minutes before his two o’clock.”
I steeled myself and knocked, barely waiting for my father’s muffled “Come in” before turning the handle. Dad was sitting behind his desk, the business pages of the StarTribune spread out in front of him. He hurriedly finished chewing the last bite of his sandwich as he stood to greet me. “Kira! To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Sorry to interrupt you, Dad.” I eased into one of the chairs across the desk from him.
I had slept late that morning, sacked out from physical and mental exhaustion. A shower and a bowl of Cap’n Crunch later, though, I felt like a new woman. Even though I’d dug the “Variety” section of the newspaper out of the trash can, where one of my housemates had hidden it. Even though I’d brushed off orange peels to read the review of our play. Even though I’d cringed at the snarky tone, the high-and-mighty critique of every last aspect of Bill Pomeroy’s masterpiece.
Even though I’d read the black-edged box beneath the review, noting that the show had been placed on hiatus. Black-edged. Like an obituary.
At least I was lucky; Dad hadn’t reached the “Variety” section yet. He always started with the stock reports, with the minuscule print that told the story of his clients’ rises and falls.
Tiny print, like Teel’s contract that I had read and signed. I could still feel my internal debate as I chose my final wish, remember it like a fever in my bones.
And I could recall my sudden clarity regarding my father, emerging from the middle of that debate. I could recall that instant of knowing, of understanding that I needed to talk to Dad. I needed to explain the truth to him. I needed to tell him who I was, what I wanted, how I was going to live my life.
I had dressed for the occasion—neat wool trousers, a creamy silk blouse. Anyone passing me in the hall would have mistaken me for one of the firm’s eager associates, one of those lawyers who thrived on research and writing, on investing every waking moment in pursuit of the brass ring of partnership, in communion with The Law.
My father knew better, though. He sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his chest. “You’re never an interruption, Kira.”
I glanced over my shoulder at my mother’s portrait. Dad had never bargained for the single parent game. He’d never asked to raise me on his own, to deal with the trials and tribulations of a sometimes headstrong daughter. But we’d made it through my teen years remarkably unscathed. We’d figured out our path through college, even when I’d wanted a major that Dad cons
idered utterly irresponsible. We’d made it through an endless procession of plays.
We’d make it through this, as well. But only if I took the proverbial bull by the horns. “I’m not taking the LSAT, Dad.”
He remained absolutely impassive. “You’ve lined up your next theater job, then?”
“No,” I said. “Not yet.”
He gestured toward the newspaper in front of him. “With Romeo and Juliet on hiatus, it’ll be difficult to pin down something else, won’t it? Something stable by your May deadline?”
Damn. I’d always thought he read the business section first. I raised my chin. “It might be difficult to find another theater job, if I were going to stay in the Twin Cities.”
Again, with the poker face. “Where are you going?”
“New York.” It sounded more dangerous when I said the words out loud. In the privacy of my own mind, New York sounded exciting. Bohemian. Romantic. But when I named the city here, my decision to move halfway across the country sounded shockingly irresponsible. Especially since I hadn’t even spoken with John about it. Better to stick to the facts. Stick to the plan, however new it might be. I met my father’s gaze.
“I thought we had an agreement, Kira. I thought you’d promised to take the LSAT.”
“We did, Dad. I did. But I had to change my mind.”
For one instant, he looked trapped. My beloved father, the brilliant lawyer, the man who had stood by me through every harebrained scheme of my adult life, looked trapped. I saw him consider one reply, another, yet a third. And then, he took a deep breath and said, “Why?”
That was better than I’d expected. That was better than his getting angry. That was better than his ordering me out of the house, me and Jules and Maddy, before all of us were ready to go our separate ways. Not that I’d truly believed he would turn me out. Not that I’d ever doubted he loved me.